Through all the long service he did not raise his head; even when the congregation began to approach the altar for the consecrated bread and wine, he did not go. Gorlois touched Igraine's shoulder, and she went at his side-the Christians held that a wife should follow her husband's faith, so that God of theirs could just blame Gorlois if she went to the communion ill prepared. Father Columba had argued with her a long time about proper prayer and preparation, and Igraine had decided that she was never properly prepared for it. But Gorlois would be angry with her, and after all she could not interrupt the silence of the service to argue with him, even in a whisper.

Returning to her place, her teeth on edge from the coarse bread and the sourness of wine on an empty stomach, she saw the tall man raise his head. Gorlois gave him a curt nod and passed on. The man looked at Igraine, and it seemed for a moment that he was laughing at her, and at Gorlois too; she felt herself smile. Then at Gorlois's repressive frown she followed him and knelt meekly at his side. But she could see the fair-haired man watching her. From his Northman's plaid she supposed that this could be Lot of Orkney, the one Gorlois had called young and ambitious. Some of the Northmen too were fair as Saxons.

The final psalm had begun; she listened to the words without paying much attention to them.

He has sent redemption among his people in accordance with his eternal covenant ...

His name is holy and terrible; the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.

Gorlois bowed his head for the benediction. She was learning so much about her husband in these few days. She had known he was a Christian when she married him; indeed most folk were Christian, in these days, or if they were not, they kept it most scrupulously to themselves, except near the Holy Isle where the Old Faith reigned, or among the Northern barbarians, or the Saxons. But she had not known that he was genuinely pious.

The benediction was over; the priest and his deacons departed bearing their long cross and the Holy Book. Igraine looked to where the King stood. He looked yellow and tired, and as he turned to leave the church, he leaned heavily on the arm of the dark young man who had stood next to him and supported him all through the service.

"Lot of Orkney loses no time, does he, my lord of Cornwall," said the tall, fair-haired man in the Northman's plaid. "He is ever at Ambrosius' elbow these days, and not wanting in service!"

So, Igraine thought, this is not the Duke of Orkney as I thought.

Gorlois grunted assent.

"Your lady wife, Gorlois?"

Reluctantly, churlishly, Gorlois said, "Igraine, my dear, this is our war duke: Uther, whom the Tribes call Pendragon, from his banner."

She dropped him a curtsey, blinking with astonishment. Uther Pen-dragon, this ungainly man, fair as a Saxon? Was this the courtier intended to succeed Ambrosius-this bumbling man who blundered in to disturb holy mass? Uther was staring-not, Igraine realized, at her face, but at something lower down, and Igraine, wondering if she had spilled communion wine on her gown, saw that he was staring at the moonstone on the breast of her mantle. She wondered sharply if he had never seen one before.

Gorlois, too, had noted the direction of his gaze. He said, "I would like to present my lady to the King; a good day to you, my lord Duke," and left without waiting for Uther's farewell. When they were out of earshot he said, "I like not the way he looks at you, Igraine. He is no man for a decent woman to know. Avoid him."

Igraine said, "He was not looking at me, my husband, but at the jewel I wore. Is he greedy for riches?"

"He is greedy for all things," Uther said shortly. Walking so swiftly that Igraine's thin shoes stumbled on the stone street, they had overtaken the royal party.

Ambrosius, surrounded by his priests and councillors, looked like any other elderly sick man who had gone fasting to mass and was ready for his breakfast and a place to sit down. He walked with one hand held to his side, as if it hurt him. But he smiled at Gorlois with real friendliness, and Igraine knew why the whole of Britain had made up their quarrels to serve under this man and fight away the Saxons from their shores.

"Why, Gorlois, are you back so swiftly from Cornwall? I had little hope of seeing you here before the Council, or again in this world," he said. His voice was thin, breathy, but he held out his arms to Gorlois, who embraced the old man carefully, then blurted out, "You are ill, my lord, you should have kept your bed!"

Ambrosius said, with a little smile, "I will keep it soon enough, and long enough, I fear. The bishop said as much, and would have brought me the holy things in my bed if I wished, but I wanted to show myself among you again. Come and breakfast with me, Gorlois, and tell me how all goes in your quiet countryside."

The two men walked on, Igraine walking behind her husband. On the King's other side was the slight, dark man, scarlet-clad: Lot of Orkney, she remembered. When they came into the King's house and Ambrosius had been placed in a comfortable chair, the High King beckoned Igraine forward.

"Welcome to my court, lady Igraine. Your husband tells me you are a daughter of the Holy Isle."

"It is so, sir," Igraine said shyly.

"Some of your people are advisers at my court; my priests do not like it that your Druids should be placed on equal footing with them, but I tell them you both serve the Great Ones above us, by whatever name. And wisdom is wisdom, however come by. I sometimes think your Gods demand wiser men for their servants than our God for his," Ambrosius said, smiling at her. "Come, Gorlois, sit here beside me at table."

It seemed to Igraine, as she took her seat on the cushioned bench, that Lot of Orkney hovered near like a dog who has been kicked but who wants to slink back to his master. If Ambrosius had men about him who loved him, that was well. But did Lot love his king, or only wish to be near to the throne that its power might reflect on him? She noticed that Ambrosius, though he courteously urged his guests to eat the fine wheaten bread and honey and fresh fish set for his table, ate only sops of bread moistened in milk. She noticed, too, the faint yellow staining the whites of his eyes. Gorlois had said, Ambrosius is dying. She had seen enough dying men in her lifetime to know he spoke no more than simple truth, and Ambrosius, from his words, knew it too.

"Intelligence has reached me that the Saxons have made some sort of treaty, killed a horse and sworn on its blood or some such rubbish, with the Northmen," Ambrosius said, "and the fighting may move into Cornwall this time. Uriens, you may have to guide our armies in the West land; you and Uther, who knows the Welsh hills as he knows the hilt of his own sword. The war may even come into your peaceful countryside, Gorlois."

"But you are guarded, as we are in the North, by the coasts and the crags lying below your lands," said Lot of Orkney in his smooth voice. "I do not think a horde of wild folk could come at Tintagel unless they knew the rocks and the harbors. And even from the land side, Tintagel could be defended, with that long causeway."

"True," Gorlois said, "but there are harbors, and shores where a boat can be beached, and even if they cannot reach the castle, there are farmsteads and rich lands and crops. I can defend the castle, but what of the countryside? I am their duke because I can defend my people."

"It seems to me that a duke, or a king, should be something more than this," Ambrosius said, "but I do not know what. I have never had peace to find out. Perhaps our sons will do so. It may come in your time, Lot, you are the youngest of us."

There was a sudden stir in the outer room, and then the tall, fair-haired Uther came into the room. He had a pair of dogs on leash in his hand, and the leashes tangled as the dogs yapped and snarled. He stood at the door patiently untangling them, then gave the leashes to his servant and came into the room.